Defection
by Scarlet Nightmare
Summary: "I...hate...flying..." the mech decided quietly between pants. A soft chuckle from the front had the black figure glancing up at the captains of the aircraft. Ironhide twisted his helm to peer over his shoulderbolt, his optics alive with amusement, "Still in one piece?" he chuckled as the mech scowled and gave a snappish, "Mute it."


**Well, everyone, here it is!**

**It's not something that I talked a lot about, but I did say I was working on something :)**

**I think OTSH deserved a little more OC action, right?**

**Boredom is a powerful thing my friends.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Defection

Heavy, lackluster billows of ash strangled the already muggy airs that continuously swirled amongst the expanse of enormous buildings and edifices. Dreary blankets of black shadowed the light and turned it into the dark, hiding secrets untold amid them. Roaring quiet deafened any who were near, with the only break in the incredible silence being that of the occasional scream or sharp snap of a construct losing its last support. Flashes in the distance echoed that of Earth-born lightning, however here, there was no such thing. Conscious minds steered clear of those rumbles and crackling discharges of energy, for causing them, was chaos; genocide; shattered values.

Causing those bouts of electronic surges was utter, total war.

Soaring rises and yawning dips once shining greatly against the spotted glass of the sky, but now stay dull and mangled in their dying might. An unrecognizable disarray of rubble marred the shredded streets and concaved the once wicked beauty of the architecture. Shards of random shrapnel protruded from rusted shapes laying along the ground. A dangerous venom sifted around the area, warning of a deeper menace that was soon to come. It was always lingering- always hovering on the edge of understanding before it would whisk away along the soundless winds to never be heard again.

The smells of burning metals, contents of purged tanks, rusting carcasses, and choking gaseous material cloaked the senses. Sneaking forms danced between structures, dodging any stray gaze and fighting to keep hidden. Most would be equipped with crude, amateurish weapons attached to their body in the aim for personal perseverance. Some may even replace entire limbs with these crafts.

Through the encasing mist and shrouded in skilled diversion, a figure slipped into a nearby break in the wall of long abandoned domiciles. They brushed by a hapless being slumped against the wall, the creature's appearance being shabby at best. The slinking mass paused, settling in with the gloom, heaving not a word. Weak, sickly white bulbs flickered on from the one on the wall, shakily looking up at who had touched them with a vision of fear in their features. Their entire frame shuddered with the faintest of vents, the surface of their shell scratched and littered with dents. Slowly, the stealthy silhouette twisted, hunched, to peer behind them.

For a moment, they merely stared at one another, studying their peer with avid distance and distraction. The crumpled pile of scrap on the ground narrowed their optics, getting a look before them. Two very dim, very scarlet lights bobbed into existence.

Without warning, the seated mech leapt to a stand and released a gurgled, energon-curdling screech. Their cry rang loud and desperate, made of pure terror and fear as they ran as fast as their disheveled legs could carry them. Before another spark could beat, the red globes were gone, replaced by the curtain of forever night. A simple rush of air was the only evidence of the lurker's presence.

A shimmer of light touched the back of the building, betraying the location of the figure whom had seemingly vanished. Shards of loose material crunched under their peds as they hurried along, crouched low and masked by their honed instincts. Revs of their systems coursed harshly as they sprinted onto yet another path, pausing for a small click to watch the silhouettes of various alts as they cruised at the end of the path. In the nanoclicks they had passed, the figure sprinted forward before halting where they had last seen the departed. Leaning out, the black paint covering their frame caught an edge of luminance, briefly giving off a gleam before the figure retracted back into the dusk. Smoke curled around them, bending and lacing over their armored build.

They froze in their place, ceasing the flow of their vents and slowed their cycling systems so to better hide away. Carefully, they dimmed the glow of their optics, expertly fading back into the background as if they'd never been. A usual passerby would never have seen them, nor minded the silver of their protoform peeking through. The sounds before sank into nothing, melding in with the mix of noises and natural phenomena taking place in the city-state. The beating of their spark slowed to quiet thuds in its casing, easily coming in tune with the hiss of a broken pipe. Their digits dug into the wall behind them, scraping the surface as they used every tactic taught to them to keep quiet, keep still, and keep surviving.

As they waited for the time to pass, their anxiety picked up and their optics pried open. Searching the familiar stretch of roads and scenery, the figure allowed theirself to step from the wall and into the open. One ped after the other, they approached the way they had come, apprehension in each step. They crept with the still and drifted in the valleys of grey. Their systems were on high alert, spiking whenever the smallest abnormality occurred. Sparks spouted from a recently severed line, showering flecks of gold that lit up the figure with startling clarity.

The lurker was mech, with striking black paint that seemed almost darker than the star-adorned sky. His faceplates betrayed his youth, and yet it still seemed intertwined with a sternness that was far beyond his apparent age. The armor attached to his protoform was thick and battle-ready, with a far better quality than would usually be found in such a place. It both made him a target, and a symbol of threat. No sane being would attack him without a vendetta, an impressive ability, or plain idiocy.

This one must have contained all three.

A flash of color exploded from the alley, snatching the mech from his route and throwing him into the unknown. Before he could react, he slammed into the ground, knocking the air from his system and jarring every plate on his frame. Pain stabbed into his left shoulderbolt, causing a small tingling to flutter down his arm. An alarm concerning the area informed him of a pinched sensory wire. Wincing from the impact, the mech softly moaned and shuttered his optics. Quicker than he'd been grabbed, he snapped his helm around in the attempt to find his attacker, his CPU beginning to clear. He couldn't in time however, and he was once again brought to his peds to collide into a sturdy wall. Dots danced before his view, while creaks called out from his armor. There was a moment where he felt his body driving dents into the once sleek surface of the wall. This was a strong one.

The attacker grabbed the mech by the throat, pinning his jugular and preventing him from speaking or possibly calling out. Hurriedly, the victim tried freeing himself by the only way he knew how: to fight. The only way to win his life, was to use the talents learned from the streets. Along with these, and his gladiatorial training, he figured himself prepared for almost any fight on these hazardous walkways. At the next pound of his spark, the mech clenched both servos around the arm that was pinning him, squeezing the digits as hard as he could. Groans split the air as the weaker covering of the assailant bowed beneath the pressure. The black mech then kicked out, using the wall as support as he let his enemy fly out onto his spinal support. Red optics glowing ominously, the attacked landed in a squat before he slowly rose, silently fighting to regain himself. His temper was flaring, with those long-ago deactivated programs screaming at him to finish things...to kill.

Giving a shake of the helm, the mech straightened, abruptly coming faceplate to faceplate with another set of deep, crimson optics. In that instant, his frame flung aside, his left side exploding with the impact. A ringing deafness echoed in his audios, encasing him in a chilling stream of soundlessness as he flew. Hitting the ground, the attacked found himself facing another challenger. This one, though a different Cybertronian, still bore that ruby glare. A mask and visor hid his expression, but the black mech knew well enough what his intentions were.

When those servos clamped down around the victim's neck, he could feel the energon building inside his cranial unit. With his ability to cycle still intact, he had only the blocked line in his neck to worry about in this strangled position. However, those too were abruptly jammed as the assassin straddled his chassis, therefore cutting off the open airways. Choking and finding himself in deeper trouble than originally figured, the black mech turned himself over to his pure instinct.

Since the assailant was so high on his chassis, the black mech was able to propel up his legs and around his opponent's neck, dislodging him with a good tug backwards. When he was off, the victim gave him no time to react. He jumped to his peds, grabbed his attacker's collar armor, and yanked himself up, initially using his momentum to toss the bulk of green towards the far back of the narrow passageway.

The black mech drew back, heaving a vent of relief before he was unexpectedly grabbed from behind. Two arms drove through underneath, forcing his up before locking them above his helm. Swiftly, the black mech planted his ped and twisted around, freeing himself while also forcing his enemy to the ground. Before the opponent could stand, the black mech raised his arm back and landed a powerful punch to the side of his helm, making sure to put a good extra shove behind it in return. When the attacker's optics went dark, the black mech stood and whirled on his heelpeds, catching the sound of the previous attacker behind. While watching him, the recent other rose as well, pitting two on one, with a single foe down.

Hungrily, the black mech snarled at those before him. There was a drive in him as they approached- an inner lust for the battles that he'd left behind. He wanted to hurt them, and he wanted to so very badly. They didn't care about him, and nor he for them. In his kalons of defection, he'd swore to end a life only when necessary- never from the whims of his past. However, they were here for one thing: to kill him. Program pushed side, he'd make damn sure that if he went down, he went down fighting.

The first one charged, followed immediately by the second. The black mech slipped by them both, using the small space to his advantage as he jumped at the one before him and grabbed his waist. With nowhere to go, the mech was unable to struggle as the black victim chucked him over his helm to send crashing into his partner behind. The two fell in a heap, bustling over one another as they tried scrambling to their peds.

Spark pulsing and optics sheeted in anger, the black mech growled low and threatening, sending forth a foreboding promise to the both of them that it was better they stayed down. However, they would have none of it, as they arose to turn and face off once more. He could tell they were weary, and he knew they were no simple thieves on the streets. These were fully fledged Decepticons, Pit-bent on ending his existence here and now.

One Decepticon after the other ran at him, barreling thoughtlessly into his next attack as he threw away multiple chances at escape to carry on the fight. Punches connected and energon flew. The black mech made an amateurish mistake at one point by letting his 'Con enemy strike out and catch him on the mandible. His helm whipped to the side, energon flying from his lip plates and a burst of white appearing before his sight. It was here that he lost his grip on control, for his Decepticon adversaries were far faster than he had originally predicted. Before he knew it, he was facing two attacks in succession. One clenched servo would be hitting his cheekplate while the other was landing body blows, causing one of his entire cycling systems to stall.

Outnumbered and losing ground fast, the black mech found himself with his arms held behind his spinal support and his attackers easily throwing hits at him. A sudden kneebolt to his tanks had their victim coughing up bouts of energon and a churning sensation from the acid liquids. His cranial unit bellowed with a cranialache, while his entire frame remained soaked in pain. A numbness had overcome the spots they'd hit most, giving him only minimal relief from the ongoing assault. His first attacker abruptly jabbed out at his left optic, making his victim cry out with the shock of pain. He could feel the digits stabbing into his faceplates, delving into pieces of his optic that they never should have been able to. Releasing a strangled yell, he felt himself weakening and his resolve burning on low. In this time, his thoughts traveled and he allowed himself to fear that this maybe it. All those vorns spent in the arena, and this was how he perished? Pitiful.

No, it couldn't end this way.

It _wouldn't_ end this way.

The black mech suddenly roared, desperately throwing himself and his captor forward so to completely tackle the second 'Con to the ground. Once there, the mech holding down his arms was flown backwards with a well-placed shot to the faceplates by the black mech's helm. Screeching with his broken noseplate gushing energon, the 'Con stumbled off his target to hold the injured plate. Blue liquid leaked between his digits, dribbling off his servos and onto the cold, unforgiving Cybertronian floor. His peer, now straddled by their former victim, was gaining a good set of blows to the faceplate, the black mech's fists creating large dents wherever they hit. In a good three strikes, the Decepticon's optics went out, his body limp and his helm misshapen.

Rising, the black figure stared down at the laughable scene. He could easily kill him, and take out just one more of these spawns of Unicron. They didn't deserve to live. Not after what they did to him; Not after what they had taken from him.

Shuffling behind him had the mech swinging around, his good optic brightly aglow. His fans trembled with his fatigue and a faint growl, the very air around him screaming of a desperate danger. The ominous posture he'd taken only hid his inner agony, the occasional flicker or twitch of his frame evidence of his exertion. A cold vow hung off his lasting optic, one that envisioned the streets drowned in energon, and more arrivals to join with the Matrix, or more likely: the Pit. Shoulderbolts hunched, the black mech glowered at the Decepticons, pushing forth all his hatred- all his want for their lives to be ended. He'd lost everything to them. All his life was now was nothing but emptiness and loneliness, never again to be fulfilled as before.

His digits curled together, digging into his palms and grinding the gears. He was visibly shaking, quivering with both loath and exhaustion. He'd only wanted their safety. All he'd wished for was to protect them- to keep them safe. Now look where he was: wallowing in the pits of his despair as he slunk like a coward along the streets of his city-state. What he's done wouldn't have made them proud to see him now. But where they here to tell him so? No. They were rotting away beneath the surface of Cybertron, only placed to rest properly because of the mech they'd left behind. Why? Why had it been them?

"You good for nothing, piles of slag stole _everything_ from me." he hissed gravely, his voice full of a mix of pain, fury, and sadness. The 'Cons inched closer, not responding as they carefully came in for their next attack. The first one to attack him was down, but with the other two were now recovered and on their peds, throwing the black fighter in yet another two-on-one situation. His energy levels were dropping, with his left optic already damaged by the first 'Con. It finally shorted out, giving a pop as it failed. The mech shook his helm with the sudden pain, digging the heel of his palm into his damaged optical sensor. Holding it, the mech's processor drilled him to run- to escape. But his spark told him to stay.

Here, under a starry, incredibly vast sky, with buildings tottering on the edge of collapse and a war raging merely a mile out, the mech came to the conclusion that he was going to deadspark. And he would far rather fall to that fate than run like a glitch-mouse. He didn't care that he was in the alleyway of who-knew-where. He didn't care that he was outmatched. He didn't care that he was going to meet his Maker. And he didn't care that he was slowly falling to pieces from the lack of care he'd given himself over his solitary quartexes. There was nothing for him to lose.

All he cared for was the fading images of his family unit, alive and well, saved deep within his processor. They were all he watched in his recharge, and they were all he prayed for anymore. His own personal needs could only be set aside, cast away into his personal abyss in order for him to relive those few last vorns with them. When would he see them again? The agony he endured every kalon he spent without them was unbearable, nearly beyond comprehension. He dreaded what it would have been like had he ended up bonded with his fembot friend.

Was this regret?

_Do I regret never bonding with her?_ He wondered, snorting at the 'Cons as they stepped ever closer. _Where we ever more than siblings in arms? Would I be with them now if I had? _This was a sign, he was certain of it. This was Primus' twisted way of punishing the mech for all that he'd done in the pits and streets in order to live another selfish kalon. The mech took an uncertain step back, trying to bide himself more time in order to think. That's all he needed those extra nanoclicks for: To think. To survive.

"Get down!"

The instant that command registered, he was on the ground, laid out flat on his tanks. A rocket of heat crackled overhelm, banishing the shadows to an exploding light. Energy flashed above, swirling in a bout of fire to collide in an array of amazing power and luminance with the Decepticon assassin. The mech flailed backwards and skidded across the floor on his spinal support, sparks spitting from underneath them as they moved. The second attacker, the one with the broken noseplate, was hit as well with another amazing blow. Like his partner, he too propelled in reverse, actually hitting the rear wall with a force that made the black mech wince. With a sickening keen of metal, both 'Cons slid down onto their afts, slumped and mortally damaged as they went limp. There was no getting back up for either of them.

Carefully, the black mech pushed himself up onto his peds. As he straightened, he watched the downed opponents with a weary optic. He half expected them to rise again, though their armor smoked with dying embers of heat and their fans made no sound of cycle. Energon trickled from their wounds, flowing down their frames and across the ground in a gruesome flow of life. It made his tanks churn to witness such a scene of brutal, yet quick destruction of a life, but at the same time, he had become so overly used to it that it was almost normal. If they had been in the pits with him...

"I'm assuming you're unarmed."

The black mech flipped around, taking a defensive pose the astrosecond he had this newer arrival in his sights. The figure didn't jump, though their servo was already by their bracer, a weighty canon holstered there. By the tone of their voice, the size of their armor, and the overall style of defense the figure took, the antsy resister immediately registered that this was indeed a mech. A very large mech actually.

His paint was as dark as the optics of the Decepticons, sporting scratches and minor damages around the entire surface. He was bulky, with massive shoulderbolts, an overall broader build, and openly exposed weaponry. The armoring covering his frame was heavy and as thick as it came, however, it was an older model, maybe formed before the Second Great War altogether. Peds that planted in preparation were wide and steady, with splayed toelinks holding well despite their figured age. The newcomer's servo curled to fist by his weapon, daring the jumpy mech to make a move. Obviously trained skill simply wafted from this stranger, making him appear that much more deadly. And yet, beside all this, the very thing the black mech noticed about his company was his optics. Those incredible, fiery, danger-hungry, electric-blue optics.

Realizing he had zero chance of escape and even less a chance of winning a fight with this mech in the stark fact that he was indeed armed, the defensive mech backed down. His shoulderbolts relaxed and his servos unclenched, instead raising to before him, his servos open. There wasn't even an energon knife on him, for he highly preferred to use his bare servos to defend himself. It was a personal decision- one he'd hoped would eventually get him killed and allow him to join with his family. His programs would fight on for him, keep his spark going for longer than he wanted, just for the will of surviving. But at some point, those too would give, and he would be free.

When no sign of swords, rifles, cannons, or other appeared, the gun-totting warrior lowered his arm. His optics locked on the mech before him, holding him with a stare that was sure to make any other sane being cower or run in terror. The power in the cannon he carried remained on, for the light the ammunition inside gave off exposed its status. It was also enough to give away the symbol on his chassis.

A scowl appeared on the faceplates of the mech the warrior faced, his shoulderbolts tensing as anger began to once again build inside of him. His memories resurfaced, his dear friend's features emerged. There was nothing he could do to prevent the seething, hot irritation boiling inside him. How dare_ they_ save him? Why were one of _them_ here?

"I didn't need your help." he spat, putting as much venom in his tone as he could. The warrior's optic ridges rose, surprise twisting his scared faceplates. He set both servos on his hipbolts, studying the figure before him with a less than happy expression. Apparently he didn't like what he saw either. "Watch your glossa 'Con, before I blow it off. I don't have a two-byte reason not to shoot you right now and take one more of you scum-ridden pests out of existence." he retorted, his tone deep and raspy. He jabbed a digit at the black mech before him, his cannon jolting dangerously as he did so, "I just saved your aft, so be grateful it wasn't _you_ I hit."

"I'm not a Decepticon."

"Oh really? Explain your optic hue then."

The fighter narrowed his optics at the warrior, his attitude dropping into annoyance the further this went on. He didn't have to explain anything to this brute, especially if he was threatening him for a past choice. "I _was_ a Decepticon. I'm not anymore." he intoned simply, void of any emotion as he spoke.

"That makes a _slag_ of a difference. Once a 'Con, always a 'Con, no matter what. Your programs are still active, aren't they?" he demanded, making the fighter pause for a nanoclick too long. His vents stalled and his CPU scrambled for something to say. He could lie. He could avoid the truth and reveal nothing to this mech. However, he needn't say a thing, for the warrior already made his own conclusions. A deep frown graced his lip plates, knowing clear in his optics. "I figured. Don't look at me like I am a Pit-spawn when you're the mech with programs like that."

"To me, you all are Pit-spawned. Your faction is the reason I lost my comrade in the pits and my family unit. This war wouldn't have started if it weren't for your faction's idiotic ideals!" the black mech blurted.

The warrior uttered a coarse, grating sound that jarred the fighter. He could feel his own aggravation and frustration returning to him as it now frothed into a full-out challenge. His defiance echoed in ever cycle he took- in every move he made. It entwined thickly with his words now, showing every blame and fault he threw at the warrior's group. "Both Decepticon and Autobot are the same: moronic, senseless, drawling _fools_ with nothing but war in their energon and a lust for death in their processors. You're all primitive_ savages_."

There was a point where he didn't believe his own words; they sounded too harsh- too benevolent to have the right to fall on a stranger's audios. However, he allowed himself to spew on with his ranting, just to raise this mech's ire. He _wanted_ to make him angry, and he _wanted_ to start a fight. With nothing left to return to, he simply wished for something to hit. Hard. Home and family gone, he didn't know what he believed in anymore, whether it be Autobot fault for his downhill life cycle, or Decepticon. What was left for him here beside an empty, tormenting hole in his spark?

In the shutter of an optic, the hulking warrior was upon the fighter, grabbing his chassis armor and lifting him up. He thrusted his faceplates into the other mech's, the light of each other's optic fighting in a tangle of reds, blues, and purples. Each rev of a vent was audio-shattering, the air becoming silent and still. "You have no right to judge us." he snarled, his servos tight on the fighter's armoring, "_None_."

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down Hide." another voice, higher in pitch, with a more fembot-like tone entered into the mix. When Hide didn't release the fighter, two slim, delicate servos shoved between them, effectively separating them from one another. Hide finally shoved the fighter away from him, making the mech stumbled back a few steps. Before the younger mech could retaliate, a fembot stepped forward, blocking him off from advancing. She was a dusky-blue fembot, with a high quality armoring and a narrow set of faceplates. Her optics glowed brightly alongside the mech she barred off, the faint wish for conflict was as visible in her gaze as was it in Hide's. Her own grew arrow-thin in deliberation as she looked over him, stopping when she came to see his remaining red optic.

"We can't go attacking Kaon citizens whenever we want to, no matter if they grind our wires or not." she tipped her helm to the side as she spoke, keeping up conversation with her peer as she continued to stare at the fighter. Hide huffed with what sounded suspiciously like disappointment, and he turned away to stalk to the alleyway entrance. When he'd gone, the fembot boldly approached the fighter and craned her neck around him, looking at each of the Decepticon bodies laying around them. "Either you have an impressive set of close combat skills, or my Ironhide saved your aft. Care to explain?"

Ironhide? Why did that designation sound so familiar?

"I was attacked."

"Well obviously."

The fighter twisted away, beginning to pace back and forth along the width of the alley. "They were assassins." he went on, trying to keep things clipped and short. The fembot didn't appear satisfied with this answer, as she quirked an optic ridge and placed a servo on her hipbolt. Her patience was making the air awkward and tense for the fighter, for he had no immediate addition for the fembot. Whatever she wanted, he didn't have, or didn't want to give. His experiences were his own, and he'd rather lie than allow some visitor in on his personal choices.

As he kept on pacing, not saying another word, the fembot crossed her arms, her burning gaze becoming impatient. "Why were assassins attacking you? You obviously aren't a citizen- your armor is too military-grade for simple self-defense or personal appearance." the air was like a vice, slithering around the fighter's body before crushing every ounce of air from his vents. A keen, slicing pain spiked up from the mech's optic. Pounding waves slammed against the inside of his cranial unit, causing more sparks to spew forth from his crushed optic. Bitter energon leaked into his mouth, making him cringe against the taste and eject the substance. The glowing liquid splattered across the ground, dotting the surface like the spots before his optics.

Pausing for a click to catch his cycling and shutter his good optic a few times, the mech gave one shake of his helm and turned to face the wall. His thoughts suddenly began to fade, becoming softer and softer until they were basically whispers among his conscious. Pressure lifted around his helm, making it light and woozy. Fearing it was going to fly right off his shoulderbolts, the mech stumbled once and grabbed at his damaged optic, maybe holding it in place. Everything felt loose and ready to fall off, forcing the mech to apply the slightest force to his optic. It no longer was emitting a sense of feeling, and the area around it was unresponsive as well. The swells coming off the outer reaches of the shorted part were what was causing him this pain and anxiety.

Dull, slow steps could be heard approaching him, and the mech whirled, his stature becoming defensive as he continued to grab at his optic. The dusky blue fembot from before paused, one servo raised as she studied him with a mixture of caution and concern. "Are you alright? Let me take a look." she came closer, but the mech backed away, discomfort and uncertainty bubbling within him. He didn't know this fembot, or where she'd come from, so why trust her? She could very well take one good look at his optic and shoot him right then and there. Her optic ridges came down and she continued forward, the mech's reversed direction echoing every tread she approached.

"Chromia, we have to get back to base, we don't have time for this!"

"Can you shut up for a minute? Just hold your thrusters." she snapped back at Ironhide, always holding the black fighter within her gaze. Chromia and Ironhide...where had he heard of them? The fighter accidentally bumped into a piece of scrap, causing him to stumble backwards. His servo fell from his faceplates and revealed what was beneath, the arm instead used to swing backwards in his fight for stability. When he'd regained his ground, the mech glance back up, finding Chromia staring at him. He immediately grabbed that optic again, shutting it off from view. "No, no, let me see." she murmured, finally closing the gap between them before the mech could react. Surprised to find her suddenly so close, the mech again tried to retreat, but Chromia snatched his arms and held him in place, using a shocking strength to keep him still. With his taller height, the mech forced Chromia up on her toelinks in order for her to see his injury clearer. Her optic slips narrowed and she leaned in further, examining him close enough for him to feel her vents cycling air against his armor.

"Ratchet's going to have to fix that for you." she decided abruptly, dropping back on her peds. Ironhide appeared from out of nowhere behind her, releasing a low growl when he overheard her diagnosis. "We are _not_ bringing a _Decepticon_ back with us." he rumbled.

"Oh yes we are." Chromia took the mech's bracer in her grasp, promptly spinning around and dragging him behind her. Ironhide sidestepped the two, allowing the fembot and her cargo to stride past and out the alleyway. "_Chromia_-"

"Ironhide, one more peep out of you and I'm sticking that cannon of yours right up your flush pipe." she sent a glare over her shoulderbolt that was harsh enough to make the one she tagged along to shudder. Was this fembot a Gladiator? For the next few clicks, Chromia ignored her comrade's warning grumbles and the chunks of shrapnel 'accidentally' kicked up her way. Every so often, when one came too close to her or the black mech, she would launch one backwards. Caught in the middle of these two's grudge match, the fighter found himself ducking every nanoclick in fear his helm would be lopped off his neck. Vorns upon vorns spent in the pits and he'd never encountered two Cybertronians quite like them.

The three Cybertronians crested the hill of the street, moving on from the sheen of smoke fogging the stretch of road. Eerie quiet settled around them, making even the smallest noise sound as if an electro-magnetic bomb had exploded. In the further open, treading across the airy expanse of the bridge from South Kaon to North, the mech found himself frowning harshly at what he saw. Though Kaon had been a Decepticon-controlled city-state, it was always kept in top order. War settled upon the sector for quite some time now, but things had never seemed so...defeated.

Buildings once gleaming with a darker glory were now left to shambles as they toppled over one another and many abandoned to rust. The distant sea of liquefied mercury rushed with piles of shrapnel and limbs of the city-state. The entrails of the once proud sector were laid out for all to see, spread like a single, massive Cybertronian on the battlefield, with its innermost guts now resting in the complete wrong places. Fumes leaked up from destroyed laces of the city's complex system of pathways, arising from Primus-knew-where to further mutilate the skies. The craters that stood as useless husks of what they once were remained rotting in their stations, beside the capital building that was in as worse of shape as the rest of its decrepit city. Vorns of war had finally seemed to be taking its toll.

Haggard, crumbling wings of the once spectral government building peeled off, beginning their own stages of erosion. Without its sistering features, the structure let loose an ominous air of death and failure, not pride and power, as originally envisioned. Straggled, pitiful excuses for domiciles lay in pieces around the group's peds, missing and displaced by various riots or battle. War had ravaged this city, taking its life and dominance and shattered it in mere kalons.

Though he despised his home city-state, in all its involvements and previous conviction, the mech couldn't help but feel a hallow pity in his spark at the sight of it so brutally wrecked. Stale, brittle puffs of air hissed through the crevices of homes and forsaken living quarters from various split pipes, ripping along the mech's audios with the pneumatic sound of emptiness. The mech could feel Chromia's digits digging harder into his bracer, as if she was becoming wearier and wearier as they went along. Which, by the way the flying scrap had stopped being tossed from herself Ironhide, she was. The mech she grasped knew quite well by now that if you lived in Kaon, and you didn't have your guard up at all times, you'd be deadspark in a joor.

A soft, throaty hum started up behind the mech, and when he dared peer in Ironhide's direction, he found the large warrior preparing his weapons with his optics darting cautiously around them. "Chromia, I think it's best we hurry. We've got company." the black Cybertronian noted, swinging in the direction of a nearby noise that had suddenly struck the air. Chromia could be seen to grow as tense as her counterpart, even going so far as to pick up their pace. Where were they going? The fighter wasn't sure if he trusted the judgment of this bossy fembot and her trigger-happy peer, especially when they were willing to start war on a loose metal panel hanging off a building.

"Ooh, company." there was a hint of a playful snarl in the fembot's words, and it was followed by a similar noise from Ironhide, "I _love_ company."

* * *

Following the two perfectly insane, psychotic, energon-craving warriors back to their cruiser, the fighter hesitantly followed behind Chromia as she finally released his arm to climb up the entryway ramp. Large, immense doors emitted a sharp, prolonged whine as their steaming, puzzled parts disassembled and allowed a yawning bow to appear. Crushing black called temptingly from inside, urging any whom dared to approach at their own risk. When Chromia strode aboard with a disturbingly fearsome grace, the lights and immediately visible technology stuttered on. Their guest stalled at the end of the incline, unsure if it was safe to go along with these two.

Behind him, Ironhide snorted and pushed forward, coming to stand directly behind the mech. "Well?" he prompted, nudging the fighter, "Are we leaving you behind after all?" his voice was almost hopeful, as if his partner's previous attempts at rescuing their new acquaintance would randomly void itself. Chromia suddenly poked her helm out of the door of the ship, stopping any word from leaving the fighter's lip plates. She stepped into open, placing both fists on her hip bolts. "Ironhide, in about two astroseconds, you're going to be sucking your exhaust-"

"I'm merely testing him Chromia." the black warrior interrupted, patting the mech's shoulderbolt a little too roughly, "If he's from Kaon, then he can survive me for a joor. That is, if he doesn't touch anything, or fritz me off again." the warning was clear enough, leaving no room for misunderstanding or confusion. Ironhide liked his toys. And he didn't want_ anyone_ touching them.

The Kaonian darted his optics behind him without a word, carefully reading the faceplates of the hulking mech who was silently begging for a fight. Chromia snorted at the mech, making him roll his own optics in response. He stayed stubbornly behind their new peer as they climbed the ramp, entering the ship and moving away as the door closed behind. It was a smaller vessel, with a main space barely wide enough to hold the long control panel at the bow of the space. Two piloting chairs sat before it, facing both it and a wraparound crystalline glass. Lined along the bowed walls of the interior, a communications hub, flush station, and storage area could be seen.

Making up the communications area was an offed visual screen, as well as a compact version of a keypad below it. The flush station sat towards the back left of the ship, while the storage area was promptly closed off to the public optic. The ex-Gladiator slowly tread across the floor to approach the closed off room, lifting a servo to open the barrier.

"Touch anything, and your optic's not going to be the only thing you're worrying about. Compute?" the graveled, dark tone of Ironhide's voice struck the visiting mech's spark, and he backed off without argument. Whatever was in there was obviously not to be seen by any normal passerby. Feeling out of place and useless, the Kaonian fighter walked to the visual screen by the bow, both commands by Chromia and Ironhide displayed brightly across its surface.

They appeared headed for Iacon, third district, second sector. This city-state was well-known for being the political and intellectual center of the planet, the great Archives being a lingering favorite among tourists. With its gleaming buildings that lined the streets, iridescent glow given off by the constant energy billowing off the mere surface of the near whimsical district, the passing of bustling holorail trains with its content civilian passengers, and the sight of the prominent Hall of Primes at the center of it all, none could disclaim the city-state's awe-inspiring theme. However, it was brazenly known as the complete opposite of Kaon, being the symbols of knowledge and war as they were. Further more, there was a slight addition to this growing list of differences: Iacon was the main _Autobot_ Headquarters, while Kaon was the _Decepticon's_ home of business.

"How are you holding up back there?" Chromia called over her shoulderbolt, currently holding her full attention to the screen before her. The mech staring at the device with her jerked his gaze to the back of her helm, his arms crossing over his chassis. "Alright I suppose."

"Then I suggest you grab ahold of something before you're not."

The mech couldn't get out a response before he was completely thrown backwards off his peds, sailing through the air to hit the entrance hatch with a violent _crack_. A resounding crash hit the air, followed by a burst of pain in the mech's spinal support. He suppressed a groan and ground his oral sheets together, fighting back the sound of effort burning in his vocal processor. The gravitational pull built against his chassis, restricting his ability to vent properly and causing the energon to rush to his cranial unit. The roaring of engines sounded from outside, the force of their drive rattling the ship.

Unable to move, and struck with an intense discomfort, the fighter allowed himself to fall prey to the invisible entity pressing him to the hatch, his vents wheezing pathetically and his CPU spinning. Eventually, the weight began to gradually lift from the mech until he could comfortably move again. He fell to his peds, gasping to catch his cycles and reassert his ramped cranial unit. "_I...hate...flying..._"he decided quietly between pants. A soft chuckle from the front had the black figure glancing up at the captains of the aircraft. Ironhide twisted his helm to peer over his shoulderbolt, his optics alive with amusement. "Still in one piece?"

"Mute it."

* * *

The rest of the ride was relatively easy compared to the bumpy beginning, with the path being smooth and humming with the call of the engines. The black mech smartly decided to stay on his aft, spinal support on the hatch, where it would be safe if the Captains suddenly decided to accelerate. Over the course of the journey, the Kaonian was able to discover that Chromia and Ironhide were actual sparkmates, their overall behavior around one another behind enough. That, and the arch-shaped scars above the location of their sparks. However, it was still spooky to witness just how similar their attitudes appeared to be. It was as if they were not only connected by spark, but by processor as well. It was really something to watch- each synchronized move, each word: all but made by one mind. Although, those occasional aft pinches or dirty comment was enough to make their 'guest' squirm.

Iacon was easy enough to spot, the view of the mighty city-state flushing the main viewing screen from one side to the other, laying out the entirety of the magnificent sight. It stripped the air from his vents, seeing the amazing spiraled towers, chrome buildings, and never-ending network of a transportation system. The holorail trains were no longer active of course, practically abandoned as the Second Great War had started to truly sink in A few of the empty spaces could be identified as being war-ravaged, but this sight didn't come close to the destruction of Kolkular and the rest of Kaon. There, the smelting pits flared with the melting of mangled corpses, the smells of their burning remains and a sickly black cloud now taking over any available scents. Here, domed structures screamed of elegance and beauty, with the skies clear of any and all debris. For the first time in a long time, the mech was easily able to see the stretch of stars and moons surrounding his planet.

Chromia and Ironhide called in their arrival to the communications hub at the front of Iacon's Launch Pad, allowing them to move forward into the parting hatch to properly settled their ship. The three Cybertronians were tucked away from the light of the city as they slowly made their way into the vast bay of the docking area. The massive doors before them closed as they made their decent, releasing a large click as it locked away the outside.

Their smaller ship gave a jerking lurch as their landing pads initiated and took the brute of their land, the shocks that certainly must have been there aiding as well. The black Kaonian cautiously held onto the communications keypad, hesitant in trusting these two Autobots again in favor of his sore spinal support. The dying thrum of the aircraft drained away as their movement finally seemed to cease. Hissing struts and shifting parts signaled their apparent success, the space giving one final rock before going deathly quiet.

Ironhide rose from his seat, closely followed by his sparkmate, and they calmly paced towards the entrance hatch. Their peer strayed to the rear, anxiously awaiting what lay before him as the doors slid apart, revealing what lay beyond. Exhausts blew bouts of greyish vapor as a skybridge reached for them, connecting with the floor of the door with a definite snap. Chromia and Ironhide continued on, allowing their guest to follow behind and see the landing dock for what it truly was.

When he found himself outside the protective shell of the ship, he immediately felt the incredible expanse of room the space held. It was at least big enough to hold three military-grade warships, along with a few extra transport vessels, as well as the equipment required for their general maintenance. The walls of the building reached up and into the skies, curving along the upper half to meet at a pointed finish. Balconies and railed paths lined along the perimeter, filled with working 'Bots as they moved along the stationed ships here. Long arms of equipment hovered around the vessels, scurrying around the outer layers to fix the minor obscurities there. Paint was refurnished, armor was reinforced, holes sealed, and broken necessities removed.

The air felt chilled and drafty, carrying on it the smells of burning metal and thruster exhaust. The mech crinkled his noseplate at the stench, but he quickly forgot about it as he slowed his walking speed and gazed at a single Cybertronian mech perched on a hovering work station circled a ship located in the center of the room, his servos clenched with different tools. The fighter averted his optics to watch the Autobot, fascinated by the technique he used as he swiftly peeled back some damaged armor and went to work repairing what was beneath. Blue sparks flew from his scorcher as he welded back what was open and fiddled with whatever seemed abnormal.

"Excuse me, may I help you?"

The sound of the voice snapped him from his observation, causing him to swing around and face the owner. It was a fembot, average size, with bold yellow and orange paint and a set of royal-blue optics. Her armoring was of a higher and more streamlined grade, the shape being lithe and puzzled for better fit and comfort. An idle rifle connected to her bracer while a holoboard rested neatly in the crook of her arm. Her expression was open and curious, with a slight uncertainty that betrayed her attempt at a calmer tone. Her Autobot insignia settled proudly on the top of her chassis.

The moment their optics met, the fembot smiled and turned to him, seemingly more interested. He however, felt almost exposed in the presence of a non-violent fembot. There was no reason to be so unsure around this Autobot, for she showed no signs of threat, but it had always been in a Kaonian's programming to show hesitance in meeting new Cybertronians. One could be speaking freely with a civilian in the street, and the next thing they knew, an energon knife was planted in their spark, all credits and valuables stolen from their lifeless form.

"No, I was traveling with a few peers of mine, but I merely got distracted. It maybe best I go to find them now actually..." he started forward, only to be intervened by the fembot again. Her faceplates contorted into concern, and she came closer before getting on her toelinks to see his faceplates better. The mech leaned back, uneasy at her nearness. "What happened to your optic?" she questioned shamelessly, dropping back to her peds, "It looks like it hurts."

"I was attacked." he explained curtly, trying to find a way around this persistent character. As soon as he found his way to the mech designated Ratchet and got his optic fixed, he was back on his way to Kaon. Where he belonged. The fembot sucked air through her oral sheets, her features set in a grimace. "Bummer. I could patch that up for you if you'd-"

"No need, I was searching for my guides, the Autobots Ironhide and Chromia. They were to take me to Ratchet, but it seems I've lost them."

"Chromia? She's my mentor!" a smile stretched across the fembot's lip plates and she looked around her excitedly, "You know what," she grinned mischievously and jumped forward, winding his arm with hers before he could react, "you're cute, so I'll help you out. My designation's Flareup by the way." she beamed again, starting forward with the mech stumbling after her. Her shorter height made it hard to walk properly when he was being held so low, so he was barely able to keep up as the energetic fembot, now known as Flareup, hurried across the bridges to the main body of the base. "Is it possible you know where a mech known as Ratchet may be?" he inquired eventually, struggling to stay upright, "He is the reason I'm here, and finding Chromia and Ironhide may not be necessary with him-"

Flareup ignored the mech and dragged him into a separate hall, dodging around those who were traveling against them. The Kaonian huffed as he jerked to the side to avoid an oncoming mech, who turned to stare at the pair as they staggered towards the end of the hall and around the corner. Flareup was adamant in keeping her cargo near as she made her way through the volley of interlacing rooms and halls, dodging into random rooms to explain their meanings, and dipping around apparently restricted areas to give him a 'VIP tour'.

On their way around, the mech had come across quite a few figures among the base- most of whom, he might add, that he'd nearly crashed into while being held hostage. Some of the designations that had been paired with their profiles were Red Alert, an energetic Bumblebee, Wheeljack -who looked to have recently walked from an explosion-, a slick Mirage, leader of the Arielbots Silverbolt, Hoist, a mech with an accent that went by Tracks, and a genuinely amused Hound. He'd nearly escaped with the last one. But sadly, Flareup hauled him away again, her strength surprising for her size. The fembot didn't even come past his chassis for Primus-sake!

Eventually, the two Cybertronians ending up doubling back to where they had come when Flareup received a comlink message. When the two burst into the docking bay, landing in the same place they had begun, Flareup jumped and picked up her pace towards the blue fembot waiting on the bridge.

"Found him!" she exclaimed proudly, meeting her mentor with a victorious bounce. Her arms now laid on his arm, the poor mech could only lean awkwardly towards the fembot as the elder of the three studied them with an amused smirk. "Flareup, I appreciate your enthusiasm in showing our new arrivals around base, but I must ask you to release him." she chided lightly. The apprentice gave a disappointed moan and let go of her catch, allowing the black Cybertronian to quickly take a full step away from her and roll his neck and shoulderbolt. "You ruin all the fun." Flareup pouted, crossing her arms and perking out her bottom lip plate. Chromia raised an optic ridge and jerked her helm towards the door, motioning for her black peer to escape while he could. "I have to for now," she went on as he rounded around her, "I have to sick the Hatchet on him."

Further unnerved by this statement, the mech allowed himself to be escorted out of the range of the peppy fembot Flareup and into the safety of the halls, where more than one set of optics watched the two as they walked along. The mech felt his wires buzz with the feeling of so many suppressing blue gazes on him, but when looking at Chromia, the fembot simply trod along, shoulderbolts and mandible held high. Her confident air was easy to catch on to, allowing her Kaonian follower to gain a minimal relief from the oppressive looks.

Their walk took up a good chunk of time, with not a word said between them during. The silence was welcomed, as the black mech really never enjoyed a good spark to spark conversation with any Cybertronian, Autobot or other. There wasn't much that needed to be said, nor much to be done, as Chromia was easily able to access a room at the end of one of the many adjacent paths, entering inside with him on her heelpeds. "Ratchet!" she called, circling around an empty berth and pushed past a mesh curtain toward the rear.

During his wait, the mech was able to take in his surroundings. He was in a medical space, that was for sure, with shelves lined with medical vials, cyber-anatomy holocubes, and other various curative knick-knacks he had no understanding of. A metallic ledge jutted out from the wall and wrapped around the walls of the space, holding other simple materials such as mesh wrappings, temp plating, a microscorcher, and a washing station. By the curtain, a single toolcart sat with the general tools used by medical personnel. Voices picked up from the other side of the curtain and the black mech's helm snapped up with the increasing volume.

"...to contact me that this was taking place."

"I assumed you took in on-sight patients, not ones given permissions first."

He could hear Chromia's tone grinding with irritation, though her own was matched by the mystery mech he figured as Ratchet. "I don't need to give permission, however, time to prepare would have been sufficient and greatly appreciated." the medibot retorted hotly. A snort came from his fembot comrade, "Would it have really given you the extra time, coming from our ship to your office? How much could you have prepared in that time?"

"More so than this!" two figures stormed out from behind the mech, continuing their spat in the main room before the uncomfortable said patient they were apparently currently arguing over. Chromia came out behind a strikingly greenish-yellow mech, her servos clenched into fists. She darted a glance at the Kaonian mech, but then returned it to Ratchet, who was situating his things by the bare berth. "We hadn't the time to contact you when we docked! We were _slightly_ preoccupied at that instance."

"And during transport? How is that not time enough?"

The fembot opened her lip plates to answer him before the medic rose a servo, stopping her. "Wait," he interrupted, his voice less cross than before, "forget that. Let's drop this and begin repairing this mech you've brought me." at his words, Chromia scowled and locked her arms over her chassis, obviously unsatisfied by the compromise, but not speaking up against it. Ratchet turned his optics on the injured mech in the room and gestured to the berth beside him, unaffected by the sight of his new patient. The mech stepped up and slipped over the top of the berth, letting his legs hang over the edge as the medic began his inspection.

After a few clicks of fragile quiet and unsettling closeness from Ratchet, the medibot finished his observation and went on to get his necessary equipment. "That optic of yours needs to be replaced," he began, not looking up as he shuffled around his tools, "one of the struts in your chassis is fractured, your left servo had a pinched sensory wire, there's a laceration on your spinal support that needs further looking at, your nose plate is cracked, and your right ped has a broken shock. And I haven't even looked at your spark chamber yet." a disbelieving snort, "Were you _trying_ to get killed?" his optic ridge rose and he shot the damaged mech a skeptical glance, which was met with an innocent shake of the helm, and the medic barked a laugh before returning to retain the rest of his things, "Because you certainly appear that way. You should be in great pain, although I noticed a few of the stimuli receptors in your frame concerning pain are offline, which is interesting."

"It was taught to me while I trained in the pits. Agony was a constant threat, so we learned to shut off minor receptors in our bodies to deal with it until we recovered."

"You were a Gladiator in Kaon?" Chromia stepped up from her spot by the ledge before them, her arms still crossed and her optics alight in interest. The mech nodded and held out his arm at Ratchet's request. "It was punishment," he flinched when his receptor was turned back on and the full force of the injuries was felt in the limb, "for stealing energon."

The fembot's optic ridges came down and she dropped her arms, instead using them to hand the medibot things he couldn't retrieve himself. "Kaon is a Decepticon-controlled city-state. Why would you try something so brash, and ignore the possible consequences?"

"The energon wasn't for myself. It was for my sibling. She was starving, and I became fed up with watching her slowly grow weaker and weaker, so I stole." he paused again as Ratchet onlined the receptor in his ped, allowing the broken limb to take its effect. Agony exploded through the mech's leg, shooting up his spinal relay and making him shake involuntarily with the sudden discomfort. His digits curled around the lip of the berth, his shoulderbolts hunched with the strength he used to contain his pain. Shuddering off the initial feel of the discomfort, he focused on the fembot beside him so to better distract himself. "When captured, I was sentence to two hundred vorns in the pits. Any sign of misbehavior, and my charge would be extended to life."

The shock the mech saw on Chromia's faceplates was swift and clear, as if she refused to hide any sense of misgivings toward his story. There was no doubt she believed him. With every fiber of raw, thick grief his words bore, he hoped she would at least. Remnants of the Dark Hunt still strayed in the atmosphere, continuously wearing on those who had suffered from its might. And each Cybertronian, mech, or the surviving fembot, had been effected by it one way the other. Loosing their processor, a sibling, a creator, a friend, or in some cases: a sparkmate. Laws arose to protect fembots and the younger generations of their species, placing them in the lesser city-states deemed 'Youth Sectors' by their creators. Even then however, they were not safe from pre-war massacre.

For thousands of decacycles, during the earlier stages of the war, the bonding of sparks became outlawed to protect those few who were brave enough to join the war. During that time, a second law was passed by Sentinel Prime that fembots would be barred from participating in the war, beside those whom had taken up medical occupancies. Still, fembots, sparklings, younglings, and any whom were not deemed 'useful' for the Decepticon faction were destroyed on sight. This not only affected Autobot troops, who began to fall one by one from sparkmate-related issues, but Decepticon mechs and fembots as well. Though most refused to believe, their kind once held to the values of love, and in the rare occasion, a mech or fembot 'Con would fall because of their lover's end.

As sparklings and their fembot creators became less and less visible in public, worry of mass extinction arose in the sparks of the Cybertronians, though they carelessly continued to fight in their war. Mechs dropped from the army to take care of their family units, leaving both Autobots and Decepticons with major holes in their forces to fill. Eventually, after Sentinel Prime's death by Megatron's own doing, Optimus Prime took lead and nullified both laws, allowing fembots to participate in the fight as well as bond to whomever they wished. The caste system had fallen far into the early quartexes of their battle, meaning rank was all that mattered to Cybertron anymore. Civilians who neither wish to be Autobot nor Decepticon were considered Neutral, placing them as a part of everything nonetheless, though they only need live another kalon. Not fight.

The Dark Hunt had come about during the glory times of the gladiator pits, when this mech had been only a sparkling and Sentinel Prime and Nexus' spat was boiling past political circumstances. During this time, the Dark Hunt's enforcer, also considered the first leader of the Decepticons, was a mech with the designation Nexus -after one of the original Thirteen- was killing off the 'weakness' he'd seen in their race. This included that of the fembot populace and those younger than a cyberling. Even then, cyberlings and mechs who were unable to wage in the fight became targets as well.

Not too long before the laws lifted, it was discovered that the AllSpark held the capability to create a spark in a contained frame and chamber, giving the planet a new hope of recovery after all the energonshed. However, it too was unsafe, giving reason to Optimus and his team to launch it into space, keeping it away from Megatron for hopefully long enough to finish the war. Along with Chromia and Flareup, the fembots and their bonded were all Cybertron had left for a future. They were too aware of this, he was sure, for the war-hardened Autobot appeared too used to the news of this mech's situation and his desperation.

"I too had suffered from this war." she commented quietly, bringing the conversation to an uncomfortable density that screamed of sorrow. They'd all suffered. In some sick, horrid, spark-wrenching way. "We all have," Ratchet added, reaching up to begin neutralizing the sensory wires around his patient's damaged optic, "hence our current situations. Though I am a medic, I've shared my time on the battlefield... Unfortunately."

"Perhaps Gladiators are not as barbaric as we had originally envisioned." Chromia noted softly, obviously trying to loosen the air with a jibe, "You must be a soft-spark to let Flareup drag you around base without punching her to shut her up." the mech, stiff from sitting so still to allow Ratchet easier access to his damaged parts, huffed as he gave a half-smile. "She wasn't quite _that_ annoying. Besides, it is not in my nature to be unnecessarily volatile. Only when I need to..." a pause, "or I am provoked."

Chromia's chuckle struck deep into the pressure of the room, slicing through it like an energon knife to clear out the initial discomfort between the group. "I would have to agree."

"You're a spitfire, that's for sure." Ratchet agreed, giving a short laugh of his own. Chromia shrugged, unable to hide the hidden humor she possessed. "I would refer to it as being passionate if nothing else."

"Yes, well if you wouldn't mind taking your _passion_ to Optimus and informing him of our new arrival, that would be wonderful." the medic poked, making the mech he worked on jerk slightly when he felt movement around his more sensitive wiring. The fembot snorted at her comrade, but exited nonetheless, going off to her designated task without further rebuke. "Goodbye, ya big softie." Chromia poked at the injured mech before she dodged into the hall. When the door closed, shutting off the two mechs to their own company, the silence was swift to befall them. The Kaonian was cooperative in letting the Autobot CMO care for him, even going so far as to deny anesthetics because he knew things would go quicker if he was able to identify which spots were effected, aiding Ratchet's process. He knew the quicker they could locate, isolate, and replace, the less time this would take.

With his damaged optic now removed, his cranial unit feeling odd and strangely empty with the lack of parts, the mech was suddenly handed his missing optic as Ratchet went off to find the correct replacement pieces. Slowly, the mech looked down on his servos, taking in the sight of his almost unrecognizable left optic. The small ball was caved and split along its side, the wires once jammed inside protruding out the sides like serrated tentacles. The small slivers in his optical sensor that usually adjusted his retinal and perception levels were crushed and bent out of shape, small indents curling the parts until they bowed painfully.

The mech turned his removed optic over and over in his digits, growing more and more irritated the further he delved into his injuries. He probably would never gain complete and perfect sight of his optic again, meaning he would be a cripple on the streets. With this wound, he was already deadsparked. It was only a matter of time. Although, would he have preferred that to perishing on the battlefield of a corrupt and perilless war?

With the sound of the mesh curtain before him shifting, he was knocked from his thoughts to see Ratchet approaching him, a new optic in hold. "Believe me or not," he began, reaching over to acquire his necessary materials, "we encounter this situation frequently. Recruits are more idiotic than originally figured, seeing as they can't fire a simple ion blaster without taking off a peer's interface panel." he snorted, causing his patient to smirk in amusement. The very imagery began to play in his processor, and the mech fought to rein in his chuckle at the picture of a fully upgraded mech shooting off another's interface cable.

As Ratchet began his work, the door to the room opened. The medic paused for an astrosecond to peek over at who it was, his irritability at being disturbed showing clearly. Before he spoke of his aggravation, he must have seen someone acceptable, stopping him. Large, muffled pedfalls could be heard coming from behind the mech on the berth, forcing his curiosity to peak. He used Ratchet's distraction to twist around for himself, taking in the sight of their new arrival.

It was a mech of noticeably large proportions, his height enough to force those he approach to tilt their helms back. His chassis was broad, his shoulderbolts wide and strong. The helm he wore held two protrusions on the side, the middle graced by a silver crest. Following his thick, war-textured armoring, the Kaonian was able to see his long arms sway by his hipbolts, his squared servos lax. His legs made up most of his height, with the bottoms flaring out before cutting off with his splayed toelinks. He was painted entirely red and blue, his Autobot insignia stationed directly in the middle of his chassis. There was only one 'Bot who held this nobility; one 'Bot who carried the title of those before him with such a show of ease.

"Optimus Prime." he vented, taking in for the first time the sight of this mech whom so many had spoken so highly of. There was an air of superiority around this being, giving him this intimidating reputation when met faceplate to faceplate. However, the gentleness in his optics and the way he walked so fluidly up to the berth, extending his servo in warm greeting, spoke of the inner legendary wisdom and kindness despite his youthful age. A small grin played on his lip plates, adding to his warm expression. The mech he offered his servo apprehensively turned to grab his bracer, having need be so cautious with his trust of others. The Prime's grip on his bracer was firm and strong, the single shake he gave it being brisk.

"I figure you have come to pass by my designation because of my involvement with your city-state?" the mech's optic ridges burrowed, confusion marring his features. Before the mech could ask about this involvement, Optimus removed his servo, instead raising it in the air, "Chromia has informed me of what I need to know. You have my condolences for your family unit." his tone had taken a much darker edge, making the mech he spoke with frown deeply. His spark seared with the reopened raw wound of his family's mention, their faceplates flashing across his view one by one.

"I do not want your pity." he growled, turning away to face Ratchet again. The medic hesitantly glanced between the mech and Prime, tools still in servo to repair the mech's optic. Optimus laid a heavy servo on the mech's shoulderbolt, coming around the berth to stand beside Ratchet as he did so, "It is not pity I offer, more an expression of my own sorrow of hearing of your family unit's perish. I understand the emotional and physical affliction you surely must be experiencing." in response to this, the mech jerked off the offered servo with a skeptical snort. "Surely you must," he retorted sarcastically, "I'm certain you understand my situation quite well."

"I do." Optimus answered softly, his voice full of a pain that made the mech's own resentment quickly fade. "My own creators were lost to the first Great War, leaving me orphaned as a sparkling. Upon my upgrading, my designation then being Orian Pax, I evolved into a dockworker. I found myself wandering more and more toward political matters, finding them interesting in the power and influence they held." the Prime motioned Ratchet to start back on his work, allowing the mech to get what he'd came here for while he spoke.

The medibot reached forward, injecting a numbing agent into his optic relay so to prevent him from feeling anything painful during the procedure. "In a near fatal accident, I was gravely wounded. However, I was able to recover and revamp into a better frame. With it, I aimed to begin a better life, taking the designation Optimus as I became pupil to Sentinel Prime...alongside Megatron."

His words caused the mech on the berth to jump, Ratchet's microscorcher jolting with him. Wincing from the shock of heat in his optic socket, the mech's vents rattled. Ratchet withdrew his digit and knocked his patient on the side of the helm, chastising him and threatening to purposefully scorch his socket again shall he move. And this medic was an Autobot?

"I understand your reaction completely, seeing as my once 'brother' displays such...intense values." Optimus went on, his mighty frame sagging with a long-fought, personal battle, "He stands by his beliefs adamantly, allowing neither myself or Sentinel to sway him. On the occasion of Megatron's mightiest betrayal, killing our mentor, he had rooted in his lust for power and animosity towards freedom. Thus, my own desire to see an end to his wickedness sought over my grief, and I took Sentinel Prime's mantle as Prime."

The mech shifted uncomfortably at being told such personal ordeals, finding himself uncertain at how to react at such openness. Those he had known had been guarded and secure of their secrets, almost never relaying them to him at any point. Kaonians had been this way for vorns, always shaded in the darkness of its vulgar upbringing by the smog of its smelting pits. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, far less harshly than he had predicted.

"To show you're not alone." Optimus announced, causing the mech's spark to startle in surprise, "There are more of us whom have lost everything, including Ratchet, Ironhide, Chromia, and others among them. Like us, they dwell in their losses, but through time, have learned to move on."

"You have nothing," the mech began, pulling away for a moment as Ratchet drew himself back to study his work so far, "yet you still lead." the medic began his work again, fiddling with connecting the few wires he had left before polishing up around the area for cosmetic purpose. Optimus was quiet for a few nanoclicks as Ratchet started to finish up what he had left, allowing the two visiting mechs of his medbay to properly face one another. His left optic was out of order for the time being, but he knew that in about a kalon or so, his newer optic would be working better than his right, reminding him once again that he was due for an upgrade to his systems. "Not nothing," Optimus finally spoke up, patiently watching as the CMO before him moved out of the way to start cleaning up. "I have my friends, who have become more family to me than mere comrades."

Both mechs looked to Ratchet, who waved off the compliment with nothing more than a huff of his vents and a roll of his optics. "Hardly. You are a close friend of mine Optimus, but I doubt I would stand being your sibling for more than a decacycle." he teased, a small smirk on his lip plates as he melded some temp plating on the lesser wounds of his patient. "Along with them, I have my sparkmate, Elita One."

Elita One was a familiar designation, one that the mech was sure he'd came by previously at some point. However, her appearance failed to resurface for him, so he simply assumed he'd overheard common gossip around the pits while he roamed. But nonetheless, the mech felt as though he were the lesser of the group, considering he held none he considered friends, and his family unit was gone as well. There was no one here for him. There was no one for him to draw strength from, or talk with, or love. Over this past vorn, he'd grown into an isolated, pitiful husk of his former self. What had he gained from losing everything?

"I have nothing." he admitted softly, more to himself than the other mechs of the room. Apparently, he'd said so louder than he'd expected, for both Ratchet and Optimus paused to look down on him. The Autobots peered at each other, a silent knowing passing between them as they shared private thoughts. The Prime's voice broke this quiet however, piping up and shattering whatever still that had developed in the space, "Sadly, I cannot return what has been taken from you. However," when the black mech looked up, he curiously watched as the Prime disappeared behind the mesh curtain, only to reappear about a click later.

The Autobot Commander lifted his servo, stretching it towards the mech on the berth to give him whatever sit in his grasp. With a hesitant glance to the Autobot's faceplates, he reached out to take the object, collecting a small weight in his palm as a result. Pulling back, the mech opened his digits to see what was inside, only to recognize the small metallic symbol immediately. "I can offer you a place among us; a chance for family again."

An Autobot insignia. He was giving the mech a second shot at life- at family. Was this possible? Was Primus finally allowing him mercy? A thousand questions filed through his processor at once, overwhelming him in mere astroseconds. Even if this was all true, and they were willing to accept him...could he? Would he be able to bare this symbol, having done what he had? Could he redeem himself once and for all?

"One step at a time, Optimus." Ratchet cut in, laying a careful servo on the mech's shoulderbolt- surprisingly one spot where he was uninjured by his attackers, "We still don't even know the mech's designation." they both looked to the mech expectantly, who was studying the insignia given to him with utter concentration. Little would they know, this was more than just a symbol. Little would they know how far their words had struck. Little would they know how much the mech was questioning everything he'd ever known or guessed about this faction and his life altogether. This was a matter of choice for his life as a whole. If he accepted, he would be leaving behind the Neutral title passed down to him by his creators. But at the same time, where would he go without this? What would he be? He knew he would always be fighting no matter where he went, so if he did, would it be better to might as well pick a side? What would the others think of him when they found out his past?

The clear answer would be not to tell a spark. Not a single one. He would have to cope with the many comments and gossip sure to arise about him. There was no changing who he was, so he would have to become immune to it all. This was his decision, not theirs. Seeming to make his choice, it only took the mech a single nanoclick to place the biggest decision of his life cycle on his chassis, right over his spark. An emotionless expression covered his features, a million-and-one thoughts raced through his processor. If only he'd known then how much this decision would change his life...

"Solas Kaon." he announced, holding the thin plate down as its melding properties took effect, thus permanently anchoring his fate, "My designation is Solas Kaon."

* * *

**I thank all of you for the hundredth time over for your support and love during my main story, Of The Spark And Heart,**

**This was tons of fun to write, but it makes me a little sad that it's only going to be a one shot :/**

**Oh well, on to more adventures!**

**All my love,**

**~Scarlet Nightmare **


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